


Colossians 3:18

by elijah_was_a_prophet



Category: Original Work
Genre: Caning, Forced Crossdressing, Forced Feminization, Forced Marriage, M/M, Slut Shaming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21698353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elijah_was_a_prophet/pseuds/elijah_was_a_prophet
Summary: Neil had never intended to be married.
Relationships: OMC/OMC
Comments: 6
Kudos: 126
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2019





	Colossians 3:18

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reine_des_corbeaux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reine_des_corbeaux/gifts).



> Thank you to Morbane for being an amazing beta reader!

Neil had never intended to be married. Working at the brothel suited him, and he’d had many wealthy regulars who’d shower him in gifts and sweet nothings simply for the pleasure of sucking his cock. But capricious fate had other plans. A young gentleman by the name of Denis Snodgrass had become so besotted he’d slugged another customer, and Neil had been tossed out by the madame for being more trouble than he was worth.

“I knew you’d come home to me,” Denis said when Neil came to his door. “My darling Harold.”

“That’s my work name, you fool. And I’ve come here to tell you what a mess you’ve made of my life. I lost my job, Snodgrass. You went in that place and made me lose my job.”

“I’ve been telling that woman to hand you over for ages.”

“For what? To be your personal whore? To sit around like a doll until you decide I’m good enough to play with again?”

“I want to marry you,” Denis said simply. 

“You’d have better luck gambling with the Devil.” Neil turned away, but Denis grabbed him by the hand and pulled him back. He pressed his thumb into Neil’s Adam’s apple, wrapped his fingers around the side of his neck, and spoke very quietly.

“I’d hate to see Mary Bishop’s face when she finds out what her son has really been doing.”

The wedding was set for five weeks from the closest Sunday. 

  
  


The wedding night was embarrassing. Denis wanted Neil to act like a virgin who’d never seen any cock but his own. Neil had been jerking boys off since he was thirteen; he couldn’t pretend to be twenty three and still ignorant. As a nobleman Denis was allowed to be experienced, a benevolent benefactor closer to forty than thirty that only wanted to teach the youths pleasure. Neil had to pretend he didn’t know what a prostate was.

After the wedding came the corset.

“I’m not wearing it,” Neil told him. “I wore a suit at the wedding.”

“I spent quite a bit on your new wardrobe. Are you really going to turn it all down?”

Neil stood naked in their bedroom, the corset and split-crotch breeches lying on the bed alongside a pile of petticoats and a pale green dress. He’d awoken that morning to find no pants or long johns, not even one of the flannel girdles that had been all the rage. Instead Denis had presented him with women’s clothing. 

“Yes. You’ve bought for some fancy woman instead of me. I’m a man. What will society think to see me in a dress that looks like the Duchess’ wedding cake?”

“That you’re my wife. Which, legally speaking, you are.” He held the corset up against Neil’s body. “It’s a perfect fit. And the dress will compliment your eyes.”

“No.” 

Denis frowned. “So you’re refusing your husband’s request?”

“Only because it’s idiotic.” 

Even if Neil Bishop was written on the woman’s side of their marriage certificate, and Neil had been called the bride in the priest’s vows, Neil wasn’t suddenly a woman. Those were old pieces of tradition that had yet to be updated, carryovers from before the Glorious Revolution. Only old assholes stuck in their ways were still concerned about who was the husband and the wife.

“And now you’re calling me an idiot.” Denis grabbed Neil by the wrists and pulled him close.

“Because you’re being idiotic.” 

In response Denis bent him over the bed and gave a ringing slap to his ass. Neil tried to run, but Denis was a rugby player raised on meat and potatoes. If he wanted to spank Neil, well, that was that. No escaping it. And his blows packed an awful wallop. 

“Don’t think you’re going to get away with that mouth all the time. Good wives submit to their husbands, especially the ones who’d be common whores without them. Do you want to be gutter trash again?”

“Nah.”

He boxed Neil upside the head and made his ears ring. “Say it respectfully.”

“No, ah-“

“Sir.”

“No sir.” 

The spanking stopped and Neil was allowed to stand. He could see the ruby-red handprints on his ass in the vanity mirror. His legs were shaking so badly that he had to hold onto the bedpost for support while Denis laced him in and cooed over how beautiful he was. 

“You have to listen, pet,” Denis murmured to him as he slid delicate white gloves onto his hands. “You wouldn’t want to make me upset.”

  
  


As weeks became months and then slowly drew upon a half-year Neil found himself pacing at odd hours, watching the clock and feeling enraged when Denis came home. In addition to the occasional spanking he’d been snide and demeaning. For Christmas he’d given Neil a set of encyclopedias, kissing him when Neil pointed out that he was illiterate.

“Just look at the pictures, pet. I wouldn’t expect a tailor’s son to be able to read.” 

He’d also given Neil needles and some yarn, which had at least given him something to do besides itch under his corset and pace the kitchen. Mrs. Bishop had been invited over to give her son weekly knitting lessons, an activity approved by Denis as appropriately feminine.

“Does he take care of you?” she asked in the parlor one day. “Not to pry, but- I never took you for that kind of boy, Neil. And the engagement was so short.”

Neil had bruised handprints along his ass and a ringing in his ears from where Denis had cuffed him for not taking his dick down far enough. Mrs. Bishop was looking at him with wet eyes, her left hand shaking. Neil grabbed it.

“Don’t worry, Mama. He takes care of me.”

“It’s in a mother’s heart to worry, lamb. And is he kind to you?”

Neil nodded and bent over his work. Mrs. Bishop didn’t have to hear the truth. Denis always fucked him half-dry because he couldn’t be bothered to listen to Neil. Denis made him choke by pushing the blowjob too far and then slapped him for it. Denis tightlaced Neil into the corset and spanked him when he tried to loosen it. And when Neil protested his ill treatment Denis would fix a meaty hand over his mouth and say it was a wife’s job to keep her husband happy.

Mrs. Bishop beamed to see her son’s assent. “Just as long as he treats you right, I’m happy.” She kissed Neil on the forehead and went back to their work.

  
  


The night that pushed Neil over the edge happened almost exactly six months in. They were at a coming-out ball for one of Denis’ many cousins. This one was named Agatha, and she wore a pale orange dress with chenille trim and orange leather shoes dyed to match. Neil had been put in plain gray for the occasion.

“You’re stunning,” Denis whispered in his ear while they watched the young couples dance. “But I think you’d be even prettier if you smiled.”

“This dress is meant for a busty woman, not a skinny man. And these sleeves keep getting in my soup.”

“Maybe with some schooling you wouldn’t be so base. The other men call you my little whore. But you can’t help it, can you? I tell them my poor little Neil just can’t control himself when he sees fine men. I have to keep him in line, or else he’ll kneel for the flash of a few pounds.” Denis reached down and grabbed his thigh under the table. 

“I am not your whore.”

“Then why do you flutter your eyes and arch your back every time I pull up your skirts? You’d suck my cock right now in front of this whole party, and let another man use your ass at the same time.” He moved his hand up and felt where Neil’s cock was stiffening. “My God, you’re aroused by the mere thought. You really are a little slut.”

“Am not.” Neil growled. He got up and walked away. The only thing left was his dignity, and Denis couldn’t have that. 

“Come back!” Denis called. 

“No!” 

“Are you disobeying me?”

“Yes I am.” 

Neil had an inch or two on Denis, more in his boots, and so he stared at his hairline and took level breaths. He was in public. Denis wouldn’t lay a hand on him in public.

“You know what happens when you disobey me, pet.” He moved to bend Neil over his lap, to humiliate him in public beyond the dresses and the insults, and Neil saw red. He slapped Denis full force across the face and ran.

  
  


Freedom lasted an hour. A redheaded man in a gray dress was a rare sight on the city’s streets, and the constable who picked him up was unwilling to take no for an answer.

“I know you lot are used to running amok down in the gutters, but we don’t run around the streets disturbing the peace here in Beckbridge.” The club raised threateningly cowed Neil, and he hopped in the carriage and let himself be dropped off at the house. Denis was waiting on the front stoop in his robe and slippers. His left cheek was still swollen.

“Don’t speak,” he snapped when Neil came in. “You’re already in trouble. I told you to behave, I told you to not act out in front of my sister’s family, and what do you do? Slap me like a woman and run! You’re lucky I ever picked you up out of that Babylon. You should be groveling at my feet instead of being a frigid bitch.”

“I touch you plen-” 

Denis slapped him across the face. “Don’t lie to me, whore. You got mad because you do suck those other men’s cocks, huh? You do bend over in side rooms when we’re out together. You’ve probably fucked the filthy chimney sweep instead of me, the one who gives you everything you should ever want. The one who actually cares for you. No more. You’re getting what’s coming for you and I don’t want a single complaint.”

He dragged Neil up the stairs and made him stand next to the bed, then stripped him down to the corset.

“Raise your arms.”

Neil complied. They were fastened to the bedpost with a scarf, tied so tight he couldn’t move them. Then Denis took one of his walking sticks and tied each end to one of Neil’s feet. Trussed up like a Christmas goose, the only movement he could do was an awkward waddle.

“Fucking whore,” Denis said as he knotted the cloth. “You’re not going to sit for a week.” 

He went back into the armoire and took out a bamboo cane he kept for walking in the park. It was thin, well varnished, and made a whipping noise when he swished it. Neil suddenly realized what was to happen and frantically pulled at his bonds. 

“Don’t you dare,” he growled. He’d been caned once, at the brothel. It had made him scream so loud the madame had barged into the room to check on him. 

“You don’t have permission to speak.” Denis aimed a practice swat that made him squirm. “I said that you’re going to get what you deserved.”

The first swing made Neil wince. The second made him whimper. By the fifth he was squealing. Denis had started with blows to his thighs, the soft skin there quickly turning red. But Denis seemed to quickly tire of that and after around ten hits he went to Neil’s ass. All the while he chanted _whore, whore, whore, whore._

“Apologize to me.”

“No,” Neil sobbed. “You’re a brute, a big bully, and I’ll never.”

“What?”

“You heard me. A big bully. A dumb brute who only wants to cum.”

Denis slapped Neil in the mouth and he tasted blood. Then Denis unbuttoned his pants, reaching down to slick his cock up. The worst thing about him was that his cock was so fine, long and thick with a downwards curve at the tip.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to cum in you.” He shoved inside and immediately started thrusting like an engine. Neil couldn’t fight him off or even close his legs, helpless as he was. Denis’ cock was going to break him in half. 

“I-“ A hand cupped over his mouth.

“You’re not allowed to say no.” Denis kissed the back of his neck. “You like it. I’m feeling your hard little prick right now. And even if you didn't, it's my right. In society’s eyes you’re nothing. I saved you from the poorhouse, but I could send your sorry ass right back.”

Neil screamed but nobody responded. It was only him and Denis. He began to cry in earnest, which only made Denis thrust harder. His whole body was burning up and the corset was digging into his skin. Eventually he went limp, held up only by his wrist ties. Denis had cum, but Neil didn’t know how long ago. He was crying again. His ass throbbed. 

A hand gently petted his hair and wiped the tears off his face.

“Are you sorry now, pet?”

Everything was hazy but Neil knew there was only one way to stop the pain.

“It’s my fault, sir. I’m so sorry.” In response the hands untied him and he fell forwards into a broad, warm chest. He wanted to find the heart inside of it and mash it to a pulp with his bare hands.

“Let me take all this off you.” Denis stripped Neil naked and laid him on the bed. 

“I promise I’ll be good.” 

“I know you will.” He kissed Neil on the head. “My good wife.”

As Denis patted his head and cooed affectionate words Neil began to run over poisons in his mind. Arsenic was too slow and obvious, nicotine too garish. Cyanide was quick but could fall back on his head, and stychine had the same problem. Maybe opium, or lanadaum if the price was right. 

Neil stroked Denis’ dark hair and imagined the suit he’d wear to the funeral.


End file.
